


Don't get cocky

by Death_inspiresme



Series: im-a-goner-foryou Tumblr Drabbles [2]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Daddy Kink, Declarations Of Love, Dirty Talk, Grinding, M/M, Morning After, Older Man/Younger Man, Peter is a Little Shit, Rough Sex, Sassy Peter, Tony Stark Does What He Wants, Tony Stark Has A Heart
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-10-26 05:43:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17740106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Death_inspiresme/pseuds/Death_inspiresme
Summary: When Peter's invited to a night out at the bar, he already has the lowest expectations: to be ditched by his so-called friends, to be approached by some arrogant creep-- but then a handsome stranger buys him a drink, and Peter realises that he kind of has a thing for egotistical assholes.Or maybe it's just all Mr Stark.





	Don't get cocky

 

  
  Let it be known that Peter doesn't make the wisest decisions. Idly swinging his legs over the edge of his stool, he peers out from the shadowy corner of the bar he's seated at; swirling his martini half-heartedly as his gaze lands on Harry-- predictably on the dance floor, though the pretty redhead in his arms is something new.

 _So much for sticking by my side all night,_ Peter thinks bitterly, averting his eyes just as his best friend begins what seems like an attempt eat the girl's face off. Sighing long sufferingly and bringing his sopping finger up to his lips, Peter sucks the faint salty taste of martini off before knocking back the last dregs of his drink and beckoning to the bartender; if he's going to be miserable tonight, he might as well do so with the little help of a few drinks. "One strawberry vodka, plea--"

  Before he can finish his order, though, a smooth voice abruptly interrupts him. "So, they're serving minors in bars now are they?" the mystery man-- for that low, silky baritone is one undoubtedly of a male-- chuckles, sliding easily into the seat beside him. "Then again, you youngsters certainly have become much more creative about fake ID's."

  Incensed, Peter whirls around to face his unwelcomed guest, mouth already parted around a sharp retort; that is, until his gaze falls and focuses on the man-- then his mind reels to silence, and he feels a flush burn hot through his body. The choice words he had planned to speak were stuck in his throat around the same position his heart was in; all that manages to slip out is an eloquent " _uhhhh_."

  The gorgeous hunk of a man merely smiles down at him, a corner of his lips twitching upwards into a small smirk that screams of smug arrogance; as though responses such as Peter's are only everyday occurances for him. Taking in the crisp black material elegantly draped over broad shoulders in the form of a suit that hugs that well-defined figure so perfectly it had to be tailor made, Peter can't help but feel frumpy in comparison-- _Christ_ , that sleek wrist watch alone is probably worth more than all the clothes in his closet.

  So stunned he is by the almost off-hand classiness exuding from the older man, Peter's gaze lingers for much longer than considered acceptable before travelling up to the other's face; he startles at the coolly amused expression etched into those handsome features, enough to snap him out of it. _Shit, Parker. You're better than this._

  Then the man speaks again in a slow drawl, "like what you see, kid?"-- and just like that, the floaty feeling of entrancement that had washed over Peter melts away; he stares, incredulous, at the haughty expression on that chiselled face. Jesus, how _entitled_ can this guy get? 

  "What?" Peter croaks out, having finally found his voice again; clearing his throat he continues vexedly, "I- I'm, not underage."

  "Sure," the man scoffs. "And I'm not a world-famous billionare. Who are you trying to fool, kiddo?"

  "Don't call me that," Peter snaps, all traces of revernance for his older companion now gone and replaced with irk. "I'm telling you, I'm legal; and so much for the whole 'world-famous' shtick going for you, because I don't know who the fuck you are," he adds, though as soon as the last word leaves his lips he's consumed with regret-- agitating strangers at the bar never is a good idea.

  This particular one, however, doesn't seem bothered in the slightest; if anything he seems delighted at Peter's firing back. "Ooh, fiesty, I like it," the man says silkily, before languorously holding out a hand for him to take. "I'm Tony Stark," he shoots a quick wink at Peter-- who, much to his own displeasure, feels himself flush pink in response. "Now you know what you'll be screaming tonight in my bed, sweetheart."

  Peter can't help but chortle at that overused line, releasing his grip on that calloused palm to reach back into his glass. "Well, I'm Peter. And what makes you so sure I'll be going home with you, Mr. Stark?" he asks, fishing for the last olive with his fingers and bringing it up to his lips. Dark, undeniably lustful eyes track his movement, zeroing in on his mouth as he rolls the fruit across his lower lip; against his own will, Peter feels a sense of giddy pride at having the man's attention.

  "Well," Tony says lowly, still staring as the boy's cheeks hollow slightly to slide the olive into his puckered mouth, "I like to be optimistic about my chances... _and_ there's no way I'm giving up such a pretty little thing like you."

  Fuck, Peter had to give him credit; the man is  _smooth_.

  While Peter tries to not preen visibly under the reverent praise, Tony raises a hand to signal over the bartender once more to place an order for a Crown Royal on the rocks and another drink Peter had never heard of before. "Worth a try for Martini-drinkers," he offers in explanation, turning back with a knowing jerk of his chin at the now empty glass before him.

  "Right." Peter rakes his gaze unabashedly across Stark's suit, the salt-pepper of his neatly trimmed goatee, and swallows the bitter olive rather forcefully. Unbidden, he imagines how the stubble will feel against his skin, between his thighs--

  "So, you come here often?"

  A soft giggle slips past his lips, and Peter thinks he catches out of the corner of his eye Tony's grip on the edge of the counter tighten. "Really, you're gonna go with _that_ pick up line? That's worse than even your first one."

  "It's always worked well for me, hasn't it?" Tony quips back easily, chocolate eyes twinkling as he accepts his drink from the bartender. "Never had problems picking up cute jailbait at the bars with nothing more than my charm and cheesy one-liners." He thentips back his glass to down the amber liquid, and Peter takes the oppurtinity to stare at the bob of the man's throat as he swallows, sipping cautiously at his own drink as he does so-- the underlying flavour of sweet and floral bursts across his tongue, surprisingly pleasant. Licking his lips to chase any stray drops, Peter senses the unmistakable sensation of eyes pinned on him once more, and this time meets Stark's hungry gaze full-on as he draws in his bottom lip in between his teeth to nibble coyly at it in a sudden burst of confidence. 

  "Mm-hmm. So tell me Mr. Stark, are you usually so forward with all your other 'cute jailbait' or is it just me?" he hums, before tipping back the remaining liquor in his glass in one go; with a burst of courage-- or stupidity, maybe both-- he slides off his bar stool to climb clumsily onto the older man's lap instead; judging by the widening of those blown pupils, the sudden boldness catches Tony off guard just as much as it does Peter himself.

  To his credit however, Stark immediately catches up, setting down his glass heavily onto the counter and uncaring of the whiskey sloshing over the rim in favour of supporting Peter's hips instead, tight grip pressing so hard into his flesh the boy's sure there'll be finger-shaped bruises there the next day; just the thought of it is enough to make him moan in longing and roll his hips experimentally to press their crotches against each other. Tony growls low in his ear in response, something deep and primal and _fuckfuckfuck_ Peter's actually _wet_ in his boxers from how turned on he is.

  "Just you," the man grunts in answer, large hands of his sliding underneath his shirt and burning hot against his skin; Peter arches into the greedy touch, slings his arms around Tony's neck and buries his nose into the crook of it to breathe in the heady scent of expensive cologne, desperate to be claimed as Stark's. When Tony pushes him up against the counter so that the edge of it digs painfully into his back and hauls him impossibly closer up his thighs, a needy little whimper escapes him-- and when the older man grabs hold of his chin and brings their mouths together into a messy graceless kiss, Peter feels as though he's going to implode. He surges forward, frenzied in the way he licks into and gets drunk off the lingering bitter taste of whiskey in Tony's mouth; every single aspect of this man so goddamn intoxicating.

  Tony himself, though not as wrecked as Peter already is, grows more depraved by the minute; sucking bruises into the trembling length of his neck, knuckles whitening from how hard he grips onto his hips to rock him on his lap. "Such a _pretty_ boy," he croons, breaths falling harsh, burning gaze still all-consuming as it sweeps across his body-- Peter flushes at the thought of the state he must be in right now, utterly debauched and practically humping an older man's million dollar suit in the corner of some shady hight club. "Comin' in here with those tight jeans of yours hugging that cute little ass, baby boy, just had to have you..." Tony groans into the crook of his neck, hands travelling upwards to wind themselves into Peter's once coiffed hair and tugging his curls loose; when his clawed fingers tighten around the fistfuls to yank brutally the boy cries out, squirming helplessly on the man's lap so that the prominent bulge tenting those slacks nudges against the cleft of his ass.

  " _Ah_ \- oh! Oh god, Mr. Stark!" Peter gasps, eyes rolling to the back of his head as he begins to grind back against the stiff length of Tony's cock, nearly sobbing with the need to feel the thick girth buried inside his clenching hole. " _God, god--_ "

  "Nope, though I can understand the mistake," the man grunts against his ear, snarky even was he practically fucks Peter through their layer of clothes. When he leans back and tugsthe boy's head upwards to meet his eyes, a shadow of a smirk hangs on his lips. "You can call me daddy though, I certainly won't mind."

  "I-- I am _n-not--"_ Peter gasps, trying his best to sound defiant; it doesn't have the same effect he's trying to achieve, considering that he's now riding Tony's thigh with unbridled enthusiasm. "--calling you... daddy," 

  The man only barks out a raucous laugh in response-- Peter's begging to find that cocky suits the man well. "Oh, we'll see about that by the end of the night, baby boy."

 

 


End file.
